


Captured

by orphan_account



Category: Formula 1 RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-27
Updated: 2014-03-27
Packaged: 2018-01-17 06:35:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 887
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1377484
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There are photos on Sebastian's phone. Photos thought long-deleted. Some are of racetracks. Some are... not of racetracks.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Captured

He can’t remember the last time he plugged his phone into his laptop.

Normally he charges it via the plug adaptor, but that was still in his main bag that was unfortunately lost somewhere between take-off and landing (like a lot of things). At least he still had the white cable and his tiny laptop, items that he kept in his backpack. People were still continually surprised that he even _had_ a laptop, because of his lack of online presence, but he always brushed this off with a wry smile and a shake of the head. He also had an iPhone, but no-one ever commented on that, even though that was basically the Internet in his pocket.

The phone makes a little _boop boop_ sound as it connects, the screen lighting up, his background one of the generic preset ones. It’s a night-time skyscape, the dark blue speckled with pale twinkling stars, a green ribbon of light snaking across the bottom.

The Northern Lights.

He frowns.

The numbers written in the sky proclaim it to be 23:14, he should have been in bed and asleep over an hour ago. He irons out the frown on his brow with practiced ease and makes to get up from his seated position on the hotel bed, about to prepare himself for sleep. The laptop makes a dinging noise, a message appearing on the screen which pulls his attention back, his eyes re-focusing on the single line of black text.

_Do you want to back-up your phone now?_

He hits the enter button without much thought, figuring that backing-up stuff was always a good idea, right?

A window pops up, rapidly filling with tiny images, photos stored on his phone. They should be deleted. He thought they had been deleted.

More and more of them load, his eyes darting from one to the next as the blank window space becomes increasingly crowded. Too many. He shouldn’t look. But he can’t seem to tear himself away. He knows what’s coming but it’s like watching a car crash in slow motion. Some perverse and masochistic part of himself wants to watch, wants to relive.

Panic sets in and he can’t seem to support his own weight anymore, the floor catching his knees as they fall, the bed cradling his elbows.

Racetracks. Friends. Garages. Picturesque scenes of mountains and fields. A hotel room. A bed. Hands.

Some of these photos are beautiful. Arty shots taken from behind. Heikki’s shadowy profile framed by morning light filtering in through gauzy curtains.

Some of them are not composed so elegantly. Heikki’s grinning face beneath him, all white teeth and dilated pupils and tousled hair.

_“Put that away, Sebastian.”_

The echo of his voice is still as clear as a glacier in Seb’s mind. Even though he hasn’t heard it in reality for months. These images were supposed to have been deleted, lost forever, a vain attempt to try and erase the memories that accompanied them. He figured he could pretend that those days, weeks, months didn’t happen, and that he could move on. He’s been trying.

He clicked on one, making it fill the screen. This one was his favourite.

Heikki sleeping. One arm outstretched, his face completely serene and completely perfect. Sebastian remembered taking this, having to wriggle himself free, grabbing his phone from the nightstand as discreetly as he could manage. Smiling as he lined up the shot, the soft light from a bedside lamp making Heikki’s skin seem paler than usual in contrast with the dark sheets.

He also remembers the sound that the phone made as he took the photo. The artificial camera _click_ that pierced the air and woke Heikki with a shudder. How Heikki yawned then, a wide lion-like motion, his eyes inching open and focusing on Sebastian caught like a deer in headlights, the phone in his hand like a smoking gun. He smiled his lazy knowing smile, carefully prying the phone out of Seb’s fingers, setting it down before he beckoned him closer.

The ghosts of those kisses and that night haunted him still, rattling their chains as he tried to forget.

He blinked, wrenched back to the present, his vision suddenly blurry.

He closed the photo with a jerky tap of his finger on the laptop’s touchpad, shutting down the window, banishing the ghosts.

Right-click. Select all. He ignored the tremors that ran under the skin of his hand.

_Are you sure you want to delete 186 photos?_

_Yes/ No_

He hesitated. Damn him, he hesitated.

Be strong. Don’t look back. Move on.

He scrunched his eyes shut, mentally trying to file away all of the important memories, trying to imprint them onto his consciousness. But memories aren’t the same as touch, aren’t the same as the feel of flesh on flesh. Aren’t even the same as a collection of pixels on a screen. It seemed cruel somehow, to erase everything so clinically, with a click of a button.

His breath eased out with an audible _hoosh_. He made his choice. He clicked.

And then he closed the lid of the laptop, plunging the room into darkness, engulfed by the sound of his own breathing. He stared into the black until his eyes hurt from the strain, and then put his head in his hands, and wept.

**Author's Note:**

> I know. I don't know why I do these things to myself. As always, thanks to E, the Henry to my Sepi.


End file.
